Page 85 of Tears of Ink

My mood is foul. I’ve snapped at everyone, until in the end I left Tabitha to clean up with the group this afternoon. So, I’ve put on some leggings, a running bra, and my trainers. I may as well run around this estate while I’m here.

I run for nearly forty-five minutes. The formal gardens give way to what must be a deer park lined with a deep and tall brick wall.

I let him in.

I didn’t want to. But I did.

Stupid, weak Faith Hitchin.

This isn’t how I do things, not anymore. Relationships, physical gratification, they are on my terms—no one else’s. Yet, I was foolish enough to believe him when he said he wanted to set me free. I thought he wanted to unbind the shackles I keep myself tightly locked in.

When will I learn?

Trust costs.

When I get back, I evade the main house. I don’t want to see Tabitha, to have to explain that her brother put me in a foul mood all because he talked to me like a stranger.

I knew he was going to be like that. He told me he would in no uncertain terms.

So why does it sting?

I slide on some skinny jeans and a vest top which I place an oversized loose knitted V-neck over. It does nothing to hide my tattoos but I don’t want to hide them. I want to wear them as my armour.

Deep under the surface of my skin is the familiar need, the ache, the itch that can never be scratched, to lose myself in unfamiliar hands, attachment free: no thoughts, no feelings, no pain, just how I like it.

The village is small, only two pubs to choose from: the one I took Tabitha to, and the other that doesn’t look like the kind of place Elijah will be known by name behind the bar. I slip out of Bowsley’s gates and make my way down the leafy green, shady, and narrow lanes.

The pub is just like I want. There are no hushed gatherings of middle-aged couples sipping wine, and the jukebox is blaring loud intoxicating tunes. I ask for a double vodka on ice and then sit in a corner seat, happy to just let the world go by. Well the world that is The Angel pub.

My one double vodka turns into four and my blood starts to run warm. I’m at the bar chatting to the girl serving; she’s thinking of getting ink and wants to know what I think. After watching her for the last half an hour I’m sketching on a sheet of paper she pulled from under the bar.

There’s a guy to the right. His dark eyes are on my skin and from under them I force all thoughts of Elijah from my mind. I shouldn’t have let him in—now I’m going to force him out.

It’s just sex. Just once. Then move on.

“What about this?” I turn it to the girl with the blonde hair behind the bar. She’s delicate but with a no-shit edge. She admired my roses, so I’ve gone for a flowery theme.

She stares at my sketch. “Jesus, did you just draw that right now with a biro?” She pulls the lilies closer. I grin and nod.

“Lilies are beautiful, but they are a bitch when they stain your clothes.”

“What’s that?” She lifts the paper and peers closer.

“It’s a bee, buried deep but ready to sting if needed.”

It’s how I feel. Dangerous.

“This is amazing. Do you mind if I get it done?” She stares at it so close, her nose is almost touching the paper. “I’m Vanessa, by the way.”

“Faith.” I offer my hand. “Of course, you can. It’s yours. You’ll have to find the right person though, you need a delicate touch.”

She pours me another double—not that I need it. “Would you do it?”

I shake my head and sip my drink, sensing the weight of the guy on the next bar stool weigh down on my skin. “No, I don’t have my stuff with me.”

“Couldn’t you get it?” Vanessa laughs nervously. “Sorry, I’m being pushy, but I’m getting a good vibe from you.”

“I can’t get my kit.” I shake my head firmly. I could get my kit, but I don’t want to. Those days are long behind me.